


Velvet Box Full of Alcohol

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Child Neglect, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Discussion of Abortion, Divorce, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, M/M, Miscarriage, Multi, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Today he’s reached a low he never thought possible.





	Velvet Box Full of Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fic I've been wanting to write for a while. It's basically the "worst" of this one cluster of angst universes. It still has it's good moments, but that being said PLEASE MIND THE TAGS 
> 
> hope you enjoy

Kent watches the final game of the 2016 playoffs at a bar in Vegas with his team. He’d say with his friends, but most of them have been traded or retired at this point. Swoops is kicking Wally’s ass at billiards somewhere behind him. He’s sitting at the bar with Scraps while nursing a lemon water.

The whole place smells acrid and dirty, like an old gym sock. Kent has to breathe through his mouth just to handle the stench of the place. Despite the bar being packed tighter than sardines, he feels like all eyes are on him. He takes deep breaths, ignoring the quivering anxiety in his gut.

He’s counting down the minutes until this shitty game is done. Someone just has to break the tie. Then, Kent can go home. Then, he doesn’t have to be the Aces media darling for a while. He can just be himself.

Jack shoots the winning goal, because of course he does. It was always his fucking destiny or something. A small part of Kent’s mind drifts off to the spring of the draft, drinking double doubles in Jack’s car on the way to morning practice. He feels the phantom sensation of a hand squeezing his before a kiss is pressed chastely to his forehead.

He feels seventeen and wholly unprepared for the world outside their snow globe. Kent takes another deep breath and excuses himself quietly. He waits until the guy using the urinal leaves until he pukes into the toilet. He splashes tap water from the faucet onto his face five or six times.

“It’s almost over,” he lectures himself in the mirror. “Another twenty fucking minutes and then twelve more hours. Home stretch, pull it together dude.”  

Scraps is saving Kent’s seat with his leg when he gets back. Kent can’t bring himself to smile, but he hopes the gratitude in his eyes is enough. Scraps may not be the smartest guy, but he isn’t oblivious. He’s been asking questions since Kent went on IR.

“You doing ok, Cap?” he asks quietly.

“Yea,” Kent says. “Just a...long ass day.”

Scraps nods sympathetically. His eyes wander over to Swoops, who is most likely waiting for some signal that Kent doesn’t need to go home early. Kent shakes his head as he signals the waiter for another water.

“I’m fine, Scrappy,”

Scraps leans in closer. “It’s ok if you need to duck out, Parser. I can call—”

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he insists. “Don’t call him, ok? I’ll be there in the morning.”

Scraps sighs. “Whatever you say.”

Kent pats him on the shoulder. He means well, Kent knows that. But some things can’t be fixed by merely avoiding them.

Jack’s given the MVP award, and part of Kent thinks he really deserves it. The rest of him is grumbling about how much of a ‘team player’ he used to be. Jack’s come a long way, he thinks. Part of him hopes that maybe _someday_ —  

“Hey, uh Parser, you see this?” Scraps pulls him out of his musings.

Kent huffs. “It’s on the screen, Scraps.”

“Nah, look. It’s all over social…’

Scraps hands him his phone with the worst image Kent could possibly imagine. Jack is kissing that blonde kid from that party a year ago. He always thought that no one was enough for Jack. It turns out it was just Kent that wasn’t enough.

He watches them kiss on a loop for five minutes. He thinks he hears Swoops tell Carl to fuck off.

“We’re going home, now,” Swoops whispers into his ear.

Kent doesn’t fight. He slings an arm around Scraps and wishes him a good night. Swoops leads him out of the bar with a possessive arm around his waist.

Carl’s sure to mention it once pre-season kicks off, unless someone threatens him with bodily violence. He’s one guy in a dwindling minority of assholes on the team. But hearing him spew shit sends his mind right back to 2009.

He shivers at the thought of losing everything they fought for over the years.  

_/.\\_   

2009

Everything’s different in Harlem. No one pays much attention to hockey, nor does the name Zimmermann garner any attention. They aren’t Parson-Zimmermann, the wonder duo. They’re Kenny and Jack, Marianna’s son and his not-so-little boyfriend come to visit from Canada. No one really gets what Kent is doing in Montreal, so they never ask a lot about the season or his draft prospects.

They ask Jack what his favorite subject in school is, and, if he would get a degree in history, what could he do with it. Kent sees the way Jack’s eyes light up when someone asks him personal questions about him, and not his hockey dynasty.

It’s a hot afternoon in the panaderia, so Kent drags Jack to his uncle’s snow cone cart in Central Park. They skateboard there because no one from Jack’s family or support team is here to tell them otherwise. Kent insists they still wear helmets, “because concussions fucking suck.”

Kent doesn’t bleach his hair in the summer because he doesn’t have to keep up with rich WASP prep boys at home. He wears the same emo tank tops he’s been wearing since the eighth grade, because they’re huge and they still look good on him. They look even better now that his arms have filled out a little.

Jack likes him like this, he thinks. He catches Jack’s soft smirk whenever he thinks Kent isn’t looking. He almost looks as gone as Kent feels for him. He pulls Kent behind a large oak tree in the park, making out lazily as he gently thrusts his hips against Kent’s. Jack tastes like sour grape snow cones and fresh ice. The kind of ice that’s mixed with fear, adrenaline, and hope for the future.

Jack takes his breath away. Jack is the sun and Kent is fragments of a constellation, pulling themselves together into a cluster of stardust for his approval. It’s as simple as that.

He’s different in Harlem. Jack’s kinder and more thoughtful. He looks at Kenny like he’s something special. He tries to help or understand when something’s hurting Kent.

He’s a good guy, hockey’s just hard on him.

Jack kisses him again, murmuring “marry me” in Kent’s ear.

Kent blinks, once, then twice.

“Wait, really?” Kent says. “You’re not just fucking with me.”

Jack chuckles. It’s tentative and dorky, but it has that thrum of anxiety that lets Kent know it’s real. They’re here. This is all Kent’s ever wanted them to be.

_/.\\_

2016

“What was he thinking?” Kent asks as they slip into Jeff’s subaru.

Jeff grunts. “Probably nothing, as usual.”

Kent hums in agreement, rolling down the window as Jeff pulls out of the parking lot.

“He’s fucking insane, y’know,” Jeff says after a moment of silence. “He doesn’t have the faintest—”

“I know,” Kent says evenly. “I, uh, I think it’s time.”

Jeff grips the steering wheel tightly. “If you’re sure.”

Kent licks his lips. “Yea. I’m done, baby.”

Jeff sighs. “Thank fuck. We’ll make some calls in the morning.”  

He lets Jeff ramble about what they still have to do before they fly home the next afternoon. They pull into the garage of Kent’s house. Jeff puts the car into park and doesn’t hesitate to help Kent out of the passenger’s seat. Normally, Kent would chirp Jeff about being paranoid.

But he’s tired and frustrated, feeling a bit unwanted and unloved. He kisses Jeff’s cheek before leading him inside, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom.

_/.\\_

2008

Kent knows he’s shit at sex. Jack knows this too. They both have little to no experience in that department. Sometimes Jack wants to do things that Kent doesn’t like. But it’s ok, he argues to himself. Jack likes it, and Jack loves him. He wants to take care of Jack and make him feel good.

Jack’s family has done so much to keep Kent in the Q. Jack gives Kent more care and concern than anyone has in a long time. Jack loves Kent, and it’s really a fucking miracle in his book.

So what does it matter if Kent’s not comfortable with getting fucked as often as he is? So what if sometimes he just feels like a hole for Jack to stuff down his anxiety? He knows he’s being irrational.

Jack loves him. Jack is everything he’s ever wanted and treats Kent like he’s worth a damn. Jack deserves the moon and more.

Kent gives good hand jobs and looks up how to give head online. He practices on a banana and kind of hates it.

When Jack comes in his mouth for the first time, his face of complete bliss makes it all worth it. Jack’s the most important man in Kent’s life. He deserves to be treated with love and devotion. So when Kent can’t give anymore, he finds a way to keep digging.

_/.\\_

2008

Jack can barely get through a day without blacking out from anxiety. His meds aren’t cutting it, but Papa said he’s too busy to fit therapy in. Therapy’s a lot of confusing emotional brouhaha. It’ll just take away from Jack’s training.

Kent tells Jack it’s bullshit, and he should just go to therapy. Kent tells Jack to look out for himself, and to think about his health and his happiness and what he really wants.

Kent doesn’t talk about his other mom unless it’s to drag her name through the mud.

Kent brings the big guns out one day. “He doesn’t give a shit—”  

“He didn’t _leave_ _me_ ,” Jack says. “I’m not a disappointment.”

Kent’s eyes glaze over. He gets up and leaves the Zimmermann household. Jack doesn’t see him for three days after that.

Kent never mentions Bad Bob again.

Jack never mentions Gina Parson. He didn’t to begin with. But he doesn’t so much as mention figure skating or disgraced athletes around him.

They both have a lot riding on their draft prospects. Kent has options to fall back on; Jack doesn’t. After the Q, Kent can go home and start his real life doing whatever he wants.

Jack doesn’t have that luxury. He’s never had the option to defy expectations without blowing them straight to Pluto. He needs to be first in the draft more than he needs air. The sooner Kent gets with the program, the easier it’ll be on all of them.

_/.\\_

2016

Kent’s starting to nod off when his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He groans, stretching to grab it.

“Pick it up,” Jeff grumbles.

“Yea, yea, I got it,” Kent says. “Jeff Troy’s house of wax, how may I pleasure you today?”

Nathan’s laugh rings in Kent’s ear, making the tension in his shoulders melt.

“Did you see what he did this time?” Nathan asks.

“Yea,” he says. “I’ll uh, fix it in the morning.”

“Ok,” Nathan says calmly.

Kent sighs in relief. “Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There’s a moment of silence before Nathan says, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kent says.

“Kiss Jeff goodnight for me.”

“Only if you kiss Per for me,” Kent teases.

“Alright,” Nathan says.

Kent grins as his eyelids get heavy. Nathan’s calm anecdotes lull Kent to sleep.

_/.\\_

2009

The combine is without a doubt the worst experience of Jack’s life. He spends hours waiting in line to be weighed, measured, and tested like cattle. It’s degrading and humiliating. He expects to be top prospect in most, if not all categories.

He’s only ranked top in vertical jumps. _Kent_ has better stats than he does. They go to a party later that night, and Jack drinks to forget. Kent tells him to slow down. Kent tries to drag him home, reminding him of a few weeks back when he had to stop Jack from choking on his own puke (again).

Part of Jack wants to tell Kent to fuck off and leave him alone. Where does he get off telling Jack what to do? Who does he think he is?

Kent goes bright red. “I’m your husband, asshole.”

Jack ignores him, saying he’d rather be anywhere but stuck with Kent. He’s drunk and a little pissed. Kent doesn’t want this as badly as he does. Kent doesn’t need to be first pick in the draft. He’ll probably get more money in a year with another C team than he would’ve seen his entire life.

He doesn’t get it; he never does. Jack leaves the party without Kent and goes in search of Tim Horton’s.

Kent finds him a half an hour later slumped against a tree in the host family's backyard. Kent takes him home because he has to; because Bad Bob or not, Kent’s loyal to the end and has chosen to be stuck with Jack...forever.

For better or worse. In sickness and health.

Jack hates a lot of things. He hates the way his father puts his career first, his son second. He hates climate change deniers, and people who only get close to meet his parents. He hates how inadequate he feels at all times.

But most of all, he hates that this is the shitty life he’s dragged Kent into.

_/.\\_

2011

“What are we doing?” Kent asks one day while they’re lying in bed together.

“I don’t know,” Nathan admits. “Do you need an answer?”

“Guess not.”

“What do you want us to be doing?”

“Something less confusing,” Kent says with tiredly. “Without cheating.”

“Cheating who?”

“Yourself, your fucking mental health.”

The thought of Jack hangs in the air between them.

At first Nathan thinks he should say something practical. Something like “we’ll be fine” or “I’ll think about it” or “I care about you.”

“I love you,” he thinks out loud. Because it’s _true_.

Nathan can be kind of an idiot. He can be oblivious, naive, and too accommodating. He wasted so much of his teen years blaming other people for his shortcomings. The only reason he got as far as this was because Nehal encouraged him to; because she taught him the importance of reaching out for what matters most in life.

Above all, that means never letting loved ones go if he can help it.

Kent gapes at him for a second, but Nathan kisses him before he can protest. He kisses him like it’s their dying breath. He doesn’t know what he’d do without Kent in his life, so he won’t start now. Kent melts into his arms, tears streaming down his face.

“I love you,” Kent whispers. “So fucking much, you don’t even know.”

Nathan briefly glances down at the sacred heart on Kent’s arm. He remembers Kent going in with him just to keep him company. But Kent isn’t one to watch on the sidelines. His heart is filled with so much love it’s bruised and tender. It bleeds from the slightest bit of recognition because it’s so unused...untouched.

Nathan kisses him again, slowly. He smiles when they break apart.

“No I don’t,” he says. “Teach me.”

_/.\\_

2009

Jack’s anxiety hasn’t gotten any better since the combine. If anything, it’s gotten worse. He’s trapped in his house, because the reporters are getting too loud, too desperate, too physical. Kenny can barely leave the house anymore either.

They’re stuck in the basement watching reruns of Maman’s movies. Kent loves most of them, because he loves happy ending and love. Jack is so sick of watching his mother in predictable plots. He’s sick of seeing his parents on TV more than in person. He’s so tired of watching their careers flourish and wishing he could make them even half as happy.

He’s tired of fighting. He’s tired of hiding behind closed doors to kiss his _husband_. He’s sick of having to rely on Kenny for the smallest shred of happiness. He can’t stand to think what it’ll be like after tomorrow when they’re ripped apart.

Jack wonders if heartbreak has a physical sensation. He imagines tearing a ligament. It doesn’t hurt as much as the thought of having no one.

He has no one, soon he’ll have nothing.

“Jack, baby,” Kent murmurs into his ear.

He feels arms wrap around his shoulders. He tries his best not to flinch.

“Are you ok?” Kent asks. “Can you hear me?”

Jack shivers. He needs love, support, and to just forget everything for a while. He doesn’t answer Kent. He isn’t thinking all the way through. He just needs to feel better. His vision is dulling; his breath is shallow and fading. He hears a yelp, and some protest. He can’t distinguish reality anymore.

A hard slap to the face shocks him, pulling him back in focus. He sees Kent on the floor, shirt half undone, hair wild, and eyes darker than Jack’s hair.

“What the fuck, Zimms?”

“I don’t—” Jack says. “I’m sorry.”

Kent stares at him incredulously. “You don’t fucking remember the last fifteen minutes?”

“No,” Jack admits.

Kent gets up, his limbs shaking. “I love you, but jesus fuck, I can’t even—how much did you have today?”

He means the meds, because of course Kent hates the one thing keeping Jack sane. He shrugs, because he honestly doesn’t know. Kent screams into his arm, biting down on his skin hard enough to draw blood. It’s unsettling, but Jack doesn’t care at this point. Kent can break down as much as he pleases. Jacks tired of him too. He’s tired of everything.

“I’m gonna pick up our suits from the cleaners,” Kent says, fixing his shirt furiously. “When I get back, we’re talking about this.”

“Kenny—”

“What if I hadn’t fought back?” Kent snaps. “You can’t even control yourself anymore. If it wasn’t me, who the fuck would you be attacking right now?”

The blood drains out of Jack’s face.

Kent shakes his head. “When I get back, ok? We’re gonna talk. We gotta—I don’t know. But something has to change.”

Jack watches him leave. He watches Kent leave him. Because he isn’t good enough. Because Jack will never amount to anything, and Kent’s starting to see that too. His fucking husband doesn’t love him anymore—  

Then again, who’s to say that Kent ever loved him.

He catches his reflection on one of his trophies. He hates hockey and everything it’s done to his family, to him, to Kenny. His vision darkens again. He feels something smash against his computer monitor. He feels paper ripping in his hands before a shard of glass shoots itself into his right hand. He looks up, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Jack doesn’t know who that is in the mirror. His eyes are full of anger, his skin is gaunt, his body is cut and bruised. He’s spiralling. He’s never spiralled this much before.

He has to fix this now. He needs to do it for Kenny. Kenny expects him to be ok. He needs to pull himself together. So he takes a pill, and another one.

He finishes the bottle.

The last thing he hears is Kenny screaming.    

_/.\\_

2013

Kent is pregnant. He doesn’t know how he can tell, but he can feel it. He wakes up one morning ready to hurl up a lung. He dry heaves in the restroom until his gag reflex gives out. He creeps back into bed. Nathan pulls him into his arms.

Briefly, he thinks about an easier world where he met Nathan first. He wouldn’t be this broken shell of a person. He wants a kid; he’s always wanted a kid.

He sighs, shaking Nathan awake. Wanting something doesn’t mean he has a choice.

“Hey, I need a ride,” he says.

Nathan groans. “Where?”

“Planned Parenthood.”

“Why?”

“I, uh, got something to take care of,” he says.

It takes Nathan a second to figure out what Kent means. When he does, he says a detached “oh” and gets dressed. Kent watches him get ready in silence. It’s unnerving.

“What? Kent asks after Nathan’s dressed and still refuses to speak to him.

“Nothing,” Nathan says. “Get dressed.”

“Babe,” Kent says. “You’re upset, let’s talk about it.”

Nathan sighs, taking a deep withering breath. He lifts his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Would you do it if it were Zimmermann?”

“Fuck no,” Kent insists.

“Ok,” Nathan says. “I had to ask.”

“No you fucking didn’t.”

“You told me to talk to you.”

“About why you’re upset that I’m getting an abortion. Not picking the shittiest time ever to drag up old shit.”

“Because you won’t talk about it,” Nathan shouts.

“There’s nothing to talk about! We were together. Now we’re not, it’s over.”

“So divorce him,” Nathan says.

Kent stills. Watches Nathan carefully. Nathan throws a clean button up in Kent’s direction.

“I don’t care if you get an abortion,” he says. “I care that he’s sucking the life out of you every fucking day.” Nathan shudders. “And one day, I won’t be enough.”

 _I couldn’t save Nehal, what if I can’t save you_ , Kent hears.

Kent loosens his grip on his shirt collar. He crosses the room, pulling Nathan into a bone crushing hug. He’s only seen Nathan cry three times; this is the fourth. They cling to each other as Kent sobs with him.

They end up lying in bed again. Kent kisses every inch of Nathan’s face.

“I’m yours,” Kent says. “Not the universe, Zimms, or anything else will ever change that.”

Nathan pulls him back into his arms.

“And if he comes back?”

“When he comes back he’ll still be my husband,” Kent says. “But you’re my primary, alright? I mean that.”

“Alright.”

Eventually, Nathan takes him to Planned Parenthood. They talk in the patient’s room about the future.

“I don’t even know if you like kids,” Kent says.

Nathan smirks. “A few would be nice.”

Kent blushes, and his stomach does backflips he didn’t know it was still capable of. He leans over the edge of the examination table. He kisses Nathan like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done, which it probably is. Nathan’s given him the world and his heart back.  

“In a few years, ok?” Kent says. “One more Cup and then I’ll retire?”

“You don’t need to retire,” Nathan says.

“I’d have to take at least a year off. Which, like, whatever, it’s fine, but I’ll probably be done after then.”

“What about Vegas?”

“We can keep the house, just use it for vacays and reunions.” Kent lists off a few things they’d have to do when they retire, and they’d have to make sure they move somewhere Jeff and Perry want to be too.

“We’ll figure it out,” Kent says.

“Don’t sound so sure.”

Kent cups his face gently. “You’re the only thing I’m sure about.”

Normally he’d say, ‘you’re one of two things I’m sure about’. But this is the second time he’s had to put a family on hold. He just isn’t sure Jack’s waiting for him as much as he’s waiting for Jack.

_/.\\_

2009

Kent goes first in the draft because Jack can’t.

He gets to Vegas as soon as physically possible because he can’t stand seeing the worried expression his mom gives him whenever he just can’t get out of bed. Jack is a good reason to get out of bed, and hockey is Jack. So maybe if he just plays until his body gives out, trains like someone with everything to prove, then his heart will ache less.

He trains and he trains. He drinks too much and sleeps too little. Something has to give.

Something comes in the form of the first cramps he’s had in a really long time. He logically knows it’s possible to get periods while on T. It’s not too common, but not unheard of. Still, he never had bad cramps before.

These hurt almost too much to move.

After putting up with the pain for a few hours, he caves and asks Smithy to take him to Planned Parenthood. Smithy doesn’t ask questions. He drives while Kent curls into himself in the passenger’s seat.

The staff is nice. They don’t try to ask for his deadname or casually misgender him. He feels like he’s going to die in the waiting room. Not because of the cramps, which still haven’t gone away. But because the last time he was in a waiting room, he didn’t know if Jack was dead or alive.

He had to find out from a fucking news article that Jack was in stable condition.

The nurse in triage asks him questions about his dosage and how his body normally reacts to it.

“Any chance you’re pregnant?” she asks neutrally as she tucks a coily lock of dark brown hair behind her ear.

He feels half his life flash before his eyes. It’s all Jack. It’s all loving someone he inevitably failed.

He licks his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

She nods. They go through the rest of the symptoms checklist. He pees in a cup. He notices some pink stuff coming out of him.

He may scream. But it’s been a long day, sue him.

The nurse asks if he wants Smithy to come to the exam room with him.

“Yes,” he says without thinking. He flinches at how his voice pitches.

Smithy doesn’t say anything about it. He just squeezes Kent’s shoulder, pushing him gently behind the nurse.

Logically, he knows he’s outed himself to an alternate captain for the team he just barely signed with. But Smithy doesn’t seem any less supportive than he was yesterday when he told Kent to go to bed early. Kent internally chastises himself for not listening.

Waiting for the doctor is the longest five minutes of his life.

The doctor does a physical exam. She tells him exactly what he’s been thinking since triage.

“Miscarriages are common in the first trimester,” she says. “Your body seems to be passing everything easily.”

Kent swallows thickly. “Do you know? How—”   

He can’t finish the question, but she seems to get the gist.

“Around seven weeks,” she says.

He closes his eyes, remembering very vividly the last week of May when they were riding high off the Memorial Cup win and Jack had a bottle in his hand more often than not. He couldn’t save Jack. He couldn’t save their fucking—

Kent must’ve made a face because suddenly there’s a trashcan in his hands and he’s puking his guts out. His eyes burn. He knew he was a worthless piece of shit.

But today he’s reached a low he never thought possible.  

_/.\\_

2016

Jeff and Kent fly home this year because Kent’s stomach won’t take three days of driving. He keeps his hood on until airport security, because the last thing he wants is attention. Jeff rubs circles into the back of Kent’s hand.

More than anything, Kent’s desperate to get home so they can make out in public without anyone batting an eyelash. At home, no one gives a fuck that he’s an NHL star. There, he’s just Mariana’s kid with the house down the block who restored half the neighborhood. Sometimes he’s the queer dating too many people, but fuck if he cares about his personal image around people who’ve known him as long as he’s existed.

They walk to the nearest station and take the subway up to Harlem. Kent falls asleep on Jeff’s shoulder. When he wakes up, they’re a stop away, and Jeff’s hand is wrapped protectively around his

Kent chuckles, kissing Jeff on the cheek. “I’m not showing yet.”

“You think that matters?” Jeff chirps.

“Just saying, not much to keep safe.”

Jeff doesn’t say anything as the pull into their station. He leads Kent outside.

“Of course there is,” Jeff says once they’re above ground. “It’s you. That’s enough.”

He pulls Kent in the opposite direction of their house.

“Uh, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Jeff says.

“I’m not saving your ass if you get mugged again.”

“She was six!”

Kent bursts into laughter. “You’re so easy. I love you.”

They end up in front of an empty store front two blocks down. Kent is less than enthused.

“I’ll bite, what’re we looking at Swoops?” he asks.

“Feast your eyes on the the official home of Aces Ink,” Perry’s voice carries behind them.

He and Nathan are each carrying a tall stack of boxes.

“Hola, amor,” Perry says softly.

“Hey,” he reaches up to kiss him. “Miss me?”

“Obviamente,” he says.

“Jeff, c’mon, open the door,” Nathan complains.

“Shit.” He pats his back pockets.

“It’s in your shirt,” Perry says.

Jeff blushes, unlocking the door quickly. He takes half the boxes from Perry before going in. Kent tries to do the same for Nathan, but he’s met with a glare.

“I’m pregnant, not invalid,” Kent says.

Nathan shakes his head. “Take the top box.”

The shop is nice. Its worn brick walls look like a fashion statement more than anything. The ceilings are high and the floors are concrete. Nathan says something about cleaning it before deciding what to do with the floors. As soon as the boxes are set down, Nathan kisses him deeply.

“How’s it feel to be done with hockey?” Nathan asks.

“Weird,” he admits. “But, ‘s fine. Probably gonna be a shit show when everyone finds out.”

Nathan hums, hugging him tightly.

“Besides,” Kent says. “Last I heard, a new tattoo parlor is opening up around here.”

Nathan snorts. “That so?”

“Yea, a bunch of rich retired athletes with too much time on their hands are gonna open up a shop. Business might be slow at first, but I heard something about having a baby as their mascot.”

Jeff rolls his eyes while Perry snickers. Nathan kisses his temple.

“We’re gonna be ok,” Nathan whispers.

Because it’s Nathan, Kent believes him.

_/.\\_

2016

A few weeks after the Cup, Jack and Bitty are staying with Jack’s parents in their house outside Vancouver. He’s watching the geese nest as Bitty’s taking a nap in sun. Jack’s taking in the day, enjoying the quiet before pre-season starts and they have to go home. They’ve spent a good amount of time in peaceful seclusion, but the real world is already rearing its ugly head in their faces.

Jack tears a few blades of grass, soothed by the sensation and sound. He doesn’t notice his father approaching until he’s a few steps away.

Bob clears his throat as he hands Jack a large manila envelope. “Son, this came for you.”

Bitty sits up next to him. “What’s that?”

Jack could lie and say he doesn’t know. But he knew this moment was coming, had felt it coming for a long time.

He doesn’t understand what took so long. He opens the folder, not shielding the paperwork from Bitty’s prying eyes.

He can feel Bitty stiffen. “Who the fuck is Mckenzie Vasquez?”  

Jack licks his chapped lips.

“There’s something you should know.”

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - lyrics from Hotel Roosevelt by Augustana 
> 
> thank you to [polyamorousparson](https://polyamorousparson.tumblr.com/) for being the most amazing beta ever
> 
> tell me what you think! I have thoughts for the next part


End file.
